Spin Cycle
by Theawkward1
Summary: A messy hamburger leads to Castiel awkwardly doing his laundry in a deserted laundromat late at night in his boxers. Little does he know, cocky young Dean Winchester is about to walk into his life.
1. The Ketchup Situation

The only reason he was in the Laundromat this late at night was because the moving company hadn't shown up at his apartment like they were scheduled too. So, Cas only had the clothes on his back and an empty apartment to his name until the moving truck showed up. Unfortunately, he also had to start at his new job in the morning. He had just planned on wearing the khakis and button up he was currently wearing, but during the quick meal he had grabbed at the diner near his apartment ketchup had dripped from his hamburger bun all the way down the front of his shirt and onto his pants. Not really the best way to make an impression on the new faculty he would be working with at the University.

He walked into the long, brightly lit room with walls lined with row and rows of silent machines, except for a few in the corner spinning through a cycle for some missing clientele, and fished the handful of quarters he'd found in the cupholder of his Prius, slamming them down into the top of an unused machine. He opened the door to the front loading machine, removed his cell phone from the front pocket and quickly unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it in, toed off his shoes and pushed them under the hardbacked chair at the end of the row of machines and pulled off his socks, throwing them into the machine. Cas looked down at the ketchup stain on his pants and sighed, making quick work of his belt, tossing it with the shoes and pulling his wallet from his back pocket, tossing it onto the top of the washer with the pile of quarters. Reluctantly, he unbuttoned his pants and slid them off quickly, placing them in the washer with his socks and shirt. He sighed, thinking there wasn't really anything he could do with his shorts. He couldn't very well stand around the Laundromat naked, waiting for his clothes to finish. As it was, if it wasn't nearly 2 A.M., he wouldn't dare stand around only in his underwear.

Clothes loaded into the machine, he turned to look for a detergent dispenser. There was a large metal box mounted to the wall next to the change machine that dispensed detergent, fabric softener and other laundry related items. He quickly counted the change he would need for the washer and dryer and then realized he didn't have enough quarters left over for detergent. He walked back and grabbed his wallet, flipping through it and pulling out the lone single he had left. _Fan-fucking-tastic._ He thought to himself. Thankfully, he still had his bank card and the detergent was only a dollar. He slid the bill into the change machine and with a whir and four metallic klinks, quarters rained down into the little metal bowl.

He slid the quarters in the slots, barely registering the beeping from the machines in the corner that signaled they were through with their cycle. He pushed the little button next to the Tide label and waited for the box to drop. There was a whirring sound, a thud and then nothing. With a frustrated growl, he kneeled down and peered into the little slot at the bottom of the machine. He could see the corner of the orange and blue box tilted at just the wrong angle near the back. Too far into the narrow space to reach with his hands. Cas scowled and slammed his hand into the front of the machine. The frustrations of a long day of traveling and mislaid plans washing over him.

Dean returned to the Laundromat with a Big Gulp, a bag of M&Ms, and a box of dryer sheets. He had left shortly after putting the laundry in the machines to pick up Sammy from his girlfriend's house and drive him back to the apartment. He grabbed the dryer sheets while he was home at their tiny shoebox and after giving Sammy strict orders to lock up behind him and go to bed, he ran to the convenience store to grab some snacks to keep him occupied while the clothes dried. The nice thing about doing laundry this late at night, the only time he could find after classes at the university in the mornings, working at his Uncle Bobby's in the afternoon and the occasional shift at The Roadhouse helping out his Aunt Ellen, was that no one else was ever around to mess with their stuff.

He walked into the Laundromat, ready for a chance to sit and zone out while watching their clothes tumble around in the dryer. He was tired. Working two jobs, attending classes and still trying to find time to spend with Sammy, making sure he was eating right, showering, doing his homework; all of the responsibility was taking its toll. He was only twenty for fucks sake. Carrying a load that was more akin to that of a single parent. And tomorrow, he would just start the whole thing over. Like his own personal Groundhog's Day. The only change would be starting a new course at the University. Somehow his counselor had talked him into taking a course labeled Romantic Lit and Culture. While Dean was studying a major geared toward professional writing, he had been hoping to get into a course aimed more towards modern lit or fantasy. But those had already been filled by the time he could squeeze a meeting with his counselor into his busy schedule.

He pushed through the double glass doors, not realizing there was another occupant in the room until he heard muttered cursing. Stopping short, he turned, stunned at the sight of a tall, lean, man in his late twenties to early thirties with a runner's build, messy dark hair and an angular face, trying to jimmy the laundry supplies dispenser with an unfolded wire hanger, while clad only in his boxers. Dean couldn't stop himself before blurting out, "Dude, are you trying to McGuyver your way into some laundry soap?"

The man, startled, yelped and dropped the hanger, standing up quickly and clipping his shoulder on the edge of the coin machine. He bit his lower lip with a grimace and grabbed the shoulder, that probably hurt like a bitch, while he appeared to fight back a curse.

Dean stood there dumbly, clutching his candy and the Big Gulp, box of dryer sheets squeezed between his elbow and his ribs. After a moment, the other man unscrewed his eyes and looked over at Dean with what Dean would later swear were the biggest, bluest eyes he had ever seen. And at that moment, they were practically shooting angry sparks in his direction. The man took a steadying breath and closed his eyes once more. Dean was pretty sure he was mentally counting to ten and doing some sort of calming exercise. Dean tried not to smirk, but he couldn't help it. So when the man opened his eyes once again, and looked over at him, he narrowed his blue eyes in irritation but spoke calmly in a gravelly, deep voice Dean was shocked to hear come out of the body in front of him.

"The box is wedged into the back and I can't get it out. I would put more quarter into the machine, but I used my last dollar on that box and I believe it would just compound the problem."

Dean, with the usual cocky arrogance he could shrug on like an old coat, set his things on top of one of the folding tables and strolled over to the machine to peek inside. He turned and grinned at the other man, "Yeah, this one does that all the time."

With a quick, calculated punch to the top of the machine, the box dropped into the chute and the other man stared at it for a moment before slowly reaching out and grabbing it.

"I spent twenty minutes trying to get that out."

Dean flashed another grin and winked at the dark haired man, "I've been coming here for a few years now. I know all the tricks."

The other man's eyes widened at the obvious suggestion in Dean's voice and a flush crept up his neck. Dean's grin grew wider and after a quick lift of one eyebrow he turned to retrieve his things and walk over to the machines containing his and Sammy's clothes, fighting back a laugh at the obvious discomposure the other man was fighting.

_Who knew his late night laundry errand would turn out so interesting?_


	2. Magic Fingers

2

Castiel sat awkwardly in the hard plastic chair next to the washing machine and tried to ignore the other presence in the room. Easier said than done, he thought, when you were sitting, practically naked, under bright fluorescent lighting and unsure of what to do with your limbs. For a man who was never surprised at his own levels of social awkwardness, this was an all-new low. He was afraid to look around, worried he might make eye contact with the brash young man he knew was sitting in the corner. He managed to last a few more minutes before he nonchalantly tried to look around the room. He was sitting in a chair in the corner, long, jean clad legs ending in worn boots spread out in front of the chair, leaning back casually scrolling through his phone. As if sensing Cas's eyes on him, the young man looked up and slanted one eyebrow, lifting the corner of his mouth in that damnable smirk. Cas flushed and looked back down at his hands resting solidly on his knees.

His phone rang a moment later and he sprang up to grab it from the machine it was laying on. Looking at the screen, he sighed when he realized it was his sister Hannah. She was almost more socially awkward than he was. He really needed a call from his sister Anna. She could always give him good advice even in the oddest situations. And this was definitely the oddest one he had found himself in in quite a while.

He swiped his thumb across the screen and raised the phone to his ear, quietly answering with, "Hello, Hannah."

"Hello, Castiel."

Cas waited a moment for his sister to continue, waiting for her to fill the silence with her reason for calling. After thirty seconds, Cas prompted with, "Did you need something, Hannah?"

"Oh yes, Castiel, of course. Anna and I were wondering if you would be free tomorrow evening for dinner? We thought it would be nice to catch up after your first day."

Cas ran a hand up the back of his neck and ruffled the back of his hair as he considered meeting his sisters for dinner the next evening. As the youngest of their family, his sisters tended to be overprotective and almost suffocating at times. One of the reasons he had jumped at this job at the University was because it was almost an hour's drive from his hometown. He would still have the chance to spend time with his large and overbearing family, but be far enough away that they wouldn't be stopping by at all hours of the night and day.

"Um, Hannah, I'm not sure that would be the best idea. The movers didn't show up tonight. I'll have to unpack everything tomorrow after work, _if_ they get here tomorrow. Maybe if we waiting until the weekend the timing would be better?"

Hannah didn't answer for a moment. As Cas was just beginning to prompt her into speaking again, she answered.

"The sounds like a more appropriate plan. Would you like me to contact the Better Business Bureau about your difficulties?"

Cas sighed and turned to lean his back against the bank of washing machines, tilting his head back to look absently at the ceiling before answering, momentarily forgetting to feel self-conscious of the other person in the room.

"No Hannah, I can handle it."

"Alright, good-bye Castiel."

Before Cas could respond with his own valediction, Hannah ended the call. Cas rolled his eyes and tossed the phone back on top of the washing machine, before scrubbing his hands through his hair. He was tired, anxious about starting his job, and standing in a room with a stranger wearing nothing but his boxers. This wasn't the way he had envisioned the night before his first day as a professor. The washing machine chose that moment to emit its end of cycle bell. Cas turned and piled his wet clothes into his arms, having no choice but to walk in the direction of the bank of dryers on the far wall, near where the young man was sitting.

Dean didn't have any qualms about watching the dark haired man. He had been sitting so stiffly in the chair next to the washers, looking so uncomfortable, Dean couldn't help but grin. He held himself perfectly straight, spine rigid, feet evenly spaced apart, hands on his knees. Dean would bet money the guy attended some sort of fancy prep school before whatever Ivy League college the guy had no doubt attended. He just had that vibe about him. He looked like he would be right at home behind a desk in an accounting firm. When he had looked over earlier and caught Dean's eyes, Dean smugly noticed the blush rising up his neck. The guy was freaking hot as hell and for some reason the whole vulnerable nerd thing was really hitting a kink Dean didn't even know he had.

Then the phone rang, and for the first time, Dean saw the man appear comfortable in his own skin. He talked to someone named Hannah, Dean was pretty sure it wasn't a girlfriend. He had spent too many of his teen years watching people and calculating the odds of whether or not they would be an easy con. The body language coming from the other guy read more like 'irritated and obligated' than 'significant other.' He had tilted his head back at one point and stared up at the ceiling, creating a long smooth line out of his body and exposing a perfect length of throat Dean was dying to scrape his teeth against and suck a bruise on. Too bad the guy seemed so uptight, Dean might have explored the options a little further. But, with Sam home alone and this guy's Absentminded Professor routine it probably wasn't going to happen.

When his washing machine buzzed, Messy Hair stretched long, lean arms into the machine and retrieved the bundle of clothes. Dean tilted the front two legs of his chair off of the ground and leaned back, enjoying the play of muscles against the taut skin of his back. As the other guy walked across the room towards him, Dean bit his lower lip, and watched him. After he loaded a dryer and slammed the door shut he fed the machine quarters and turned to walk back across the room, before he could get too far, Dean returned all four legs of his chair to the floor and stretched a booted foot out, hooking a nearby chair and pulling it closer. He stretched his legs out and placed his feet in the chair, folding his arms and leaning his head back against the ugly green wall.

"Moving trouble, huh?" Dean asked as the man walked back across the room.

He turned, appearing surprise that Dean had called out to him. "Yes, all of my things are currently in transport." He answered, quietly, before shrugging and sitting back in the chair on the opposite side of the room.

"That sucks," Dean replied, obviously.

"Yes, it is certainly inconvenient. Especially since I'm supposed to start my new job in about…" He paused to look at the clock hanging above the door. "Five hours."

Dean grimaced, "Yeah, that ought to make your first day really interesting." After a moment, the buzzer on the dryer went off. Dean stood and dumped the warm clothes onto a folding table. He quickly started to sort and fold his and Sammy's clothes. He looked up and caught Blue Eyes watching him.

"Like what you see?" He asked cheekily before his brain could remind his fucking mouth to stop being such a dumbass.

The other man jolted and stammered, "I'm sorry, excuse me," before looking away towards his spinning washing machine.

Dean laughed quietly, "Dude, its fine. I'm just being a smartass." After he folded two pairs of Sammy's jeans _and Holy shit, the kid was going to outgrow these soon if he didn't slow down_, Dean looked up at the other man. "I'm hoping your apartment came furnished, it would really blow if you didn't even have a bed to sleep in tonight."

Something flickered across the man's face and Dean could have kicked himself. "Aw, man. Seriously? You don't even have a bed?"

He shrugged and motioned towards the door. "I will sleep in my car tonight. The floors of my apartment are hardwood and I believe it would be the lesser of the two evils."

Dean began stuffing the folded piles of clothes into the laundry bag before tying it closed. "He walked towards the door and looked out at the parking lot. "That blue thing? How are you going to sleep in that? It looks like a roller skate."

Dean slung the heavy laundry bag over his shoulder and looked from the man to the tiny electric car out in the lot.

"Okay, listen, there is a hotel down the block. It's called the Twilight Inn, looks seedy but really it's not too bad. My friend Ash works behind the counter. Tell him Dean sent you and he'll give you a break on the rate." Dean slapped four quarters on the washing machine with a wink and backed out the door towards the parking lot saying, "Try the Magic Fingers. You'll love it."


	3. Parking Space Angel

3

In the end, Castiel took the young man's advice. Once his clothes were dry, he pulled them on quickly, hissing as the overheated jeans zipper pressed a little too closely. He drove a short distance down the road until the blinking neon of a roadside hotel sign beckoned to him. The hotel appeared to be nearly deserted. Only two other cars were occupying the twenty-four parking spots laid out in a row in front of twelve hotel room. The long, low building was brick faces and appeared well kept even if terribly outdated.

He walked into the dark paneled office, looking up as a bell jangled announcing his entrance. Behind the counter, a young man in a sleeveless t-shirt, a nametag that read 'Ash', and an unfortunate hairstyle choice was tapping away at a laptop that looked more like a science project, while two television monitors behind him on the wall played on mute. The young man help up one finger, never taking his eyes off of the screen. After a few long minutes of rapid keyboard tapping, he looked up at Castiel.

"What can I do you for?"

Castiel took a step back, feeling bewildered and blurted. "Uhhm, I uh, a man named Dean sent me to get a room for the night."

Ash squinted his eyes and appeared to study Castiel for a moment. Then he pulled a form out and filled out a few lines before sliding it and a pen across the counter.

"Just sign that and I need a credit card and a photo ID and you are good to go."

Castiel took the pen and quickly signed his name. After he slid his license and credit card across the counter with the papers, Ash swiped the credit card. While he was copying the license information onto the paper, Ash asked, without looking up, "You need two keys?"

Cas cocked his head at Ash and stared for a moment, "I'm sorry?" He responded.

Ash looked up and met his eyes, "Two keys. One for you and y'know… one for Dean?"

Cas felt his brow furrow in confusion. Then, as he replayed his first comment to Ash, his mouth formed a silent O and he quickly shook his head. "Oh no! No, no, no. It's just me. I'm the only one."

Ash cocked an eyebrow disbelievingly but he slid a key across the counter without saying anything.

"Your room is on the end. Number 12. Checkout is at eleven."

Cas quickly pocketed the key and walked out, welcoming the cool night air on his flushed cheeks.

He opened the hotel room door with low expectations. _At least it was clean_, he thought to himself. He quickly undressed, and rinsed his boxers the best he could in the hotel sink with the stingy bar of complimentary soap, wrung them out as thoroughly as he could and hung then over the shower curtain rod to dry during the night. Then he walked over to the bed and pulled the stiff cheap sheets and thin blanket back and slid into the bed. He turned onto his side to turn out the light and realized there was a metal coin box mounted on the wall by the bed. Magic Fingers. _Well, that explained one thing._

Dean overslept. Somehow, godfuckingdammit, he overslept for a class that didn't even start until 10:30. Sammy had popped his head into Dean's room before leaving for school at eight and said goodbye. Dean remembered mumbling something and then thinking to himself, just a few more minutes wouldn't hurt. Next thing he knew, he was blinking awake and realizing he had thirty minutes to shower, dress, and drive across town and find a non-existent parking space on the campus with the least amount of parking spaces in the freaking world. Thank god the coffee maker was on a timer. If he had to face the morning without his daily infusion of caffeine, things could have gotten messy.

As it was, he slid into the lecture hall with about thirty seconds to spare. The Angel of Parking Spaces must have been watching out for him this morning. He'd managed to find a spot for Baby right in front of the building. Most of the other students were seated in the seating surrounding the lectern already. There wasn't any professor type person to be seen at the front of the class, so Dean knew he hadn't missed anything important. Walking to one of the empty seats near the front of the class, Dean placed his travel mug of coffee on the desk, before slinging his messenger bag off his shoulder and and sliding into the seat. He pulled out his laptop and opened a blank document to take notes on. Sipping his coffee slowly, he looked around the classroom, taking note of a perky blonde three seats over. She returned the smile he shot her and then turned to whisper something to the girl next to her.

"Dean, nice of you to make it," someone said as they dropped into the seat next to his. Charlie, his best friend since middle school, quickly pulled out her Ipad and pulled up the class syllabus.

"Where were you? I didn't see you as I came in?" Dean asked, leaning back in his seat.

"I was in the back row. You were two busy checking out the talent to notice." Charlie turned to him and quirked her lips, a knowing look in her eyes.

"Whatever. You could have waved or something."

Charlie just shook her head, a mischievous look on her face. "No way, these seats are better. Wait till you see what I'm talking about."

Dean shot Charlie a confused look before he took another sip of coffee. "Where is the professor anyway?" He looked at the clock, "Shouldn't class have started like five minutes ago?"

Charlie nodded to the door at the front of the room, "He had to run back to his office. Said he forgot something. I think it's his first day."

Just then, three things happened simultaneously. Dean took another mouthful of coffee. Charlie said, "Just wait till you see this guy, he's dreamy." And, Messy Haired, Blue Eyed Guy Who Does His Laundry In Boxer Shorts walks into the lecture hall carrying a short stack of papers. Dean proceeds to choke, and Blue Eyes looks up and squints.

Time stands still. Dean, manages to swallow the mouthful of coffee trying to kill him, quickly recovers and shoots his best shit eating grin towards the professor, who subsequently squints his eyes and cocks his head to the side for a full fifteen seconds before he blinks, and turns to the podium at the front of the room.

Charlie nudges Dean's knee. "See what I mean? I think he's dreamy and I don't even play for that team."

Dean, glances over at the top of the syllabus visible on Charlie's Ipad, noting the name at the top. Professor Castiel Milton.


	4. Intro to Professor Milton

4

_So I listened to a lot of Brown Bird and Iron & Wine while writing this. And, I pretty much existed on coffee. So thanks to my local barista who never rolled her eyes at me while I sat in a corner, with the biggest cup I could order, frantically writing. Also, I had the overly-ambitious idea to work full time, write a fiction piece for NaNoWriMo and this fic and raise three kids. Needless to say, this is now my NaNoWriMo and the fiction piece is being shelved for now because this is just the story I want to tell right now. Also, I got the chance to go to Chicon a few weeks ago and it was an amazing weekend. Basing most of this on a small idea I had while watching Misha's panel. "Be crazy, so crazy you don't give up." - My new motto thanks to Mr. Collins_.

XXXX

Castiel had been feeling harried as he walked back into the lecture hall, carrying the stack of syllabi he had forgotten on his first trip down. He was slightly overwhelmed when he realized just how full his section was. The hall was almost full, with only a few empty seats open at the very back. He looked around the full room and paused for a moment at the flicker of recognition on a familiar face.

He wanted to bury his face in his hands and groan. Of course, Castiel thought, the green eyed man from the Laundromat is one of the students in his first class on his first day. Of course, the random stranger who saw him embarrassed and half naked is someone he is going to have to speak in front of twice a week, ninety minutes each session. As quickly as he processed these thoughts, he stood there blankly, before catching himself and turning back to the podium.

He shook himself mentally as he tapped the papers on the desktop until they were in a more orderly stack. Taking a deep breath, strengthening breath, he turned to the class and began.

"Welcome to Romantic Lit and Culture. My name is Professor Milton."

He walked to the first row of seats and handed the stack of syllabi to the first student. "Please pass these along."

As the papers were dispersed throughout the room, Castiel climbed the three steps to the raised dais. "The purpose of this course is not only to teach you to appreciate the works of the Romantic Period, but also to encourage discussion of the themes we find in these works; such as the American and French Revolutions, the birth of Industry, and the changing role of women in society."

He paused for a moment to look around the classroom. "We will study the works of Keats, Shelley, Wordsworth, Byron, and Austen as well as the Lake Poets, The Cockney School and the members of the Godwin-Shelley Circle." Castiel raised his eyebrows and looked pointedly at a few faces that looked especially clueless. "If none of these names are ringing a bell, I would suggest putting in some library time this evening. Or, at the very least, a quick Wikipedia search so you don't appear continually lost during out next meeting."

With a sardonic glance at the class, he continued, "Your goal, during this class, is to not only learn to "appreciate" these works, but to be able to discuss them intelligently, and discuss their themes. Notice I said appreciate - not like. I can't teach you a love for literature but I can expect a modicum of intelligence when debating it."

Castiel waited a beat before continuing, "You will also be writing…A lot." There were a few scattered groans and he leaned against the podium with one hand, raising the other to run his fingers through his hair in a long hated habit. He didn't notice how disorderly his once neatly combed hair appeared, or how several students grinned at the gesture, perhaps enjoying the disheveled look on the neatly dressed professor.

He smiled crookedly at the class, looking around at his students once again. "If you will turn to the third page of your syllabus, you will notice a list of the works we will be covering this session."

As pages were flipped, there were a few more groans as the extensive reading list was taken in. Castiel couldn't bother hiding the sadistic edge to his smile, "This will not be a throw away course, ladies and gentleman. You will not be able to watch Clueless and write a paper on the content of Emma. You are actually going to have to do the reading."

With another quick grin, Cas continued, "Your first assignment is due at out next meeting. I would like fifteen hundred words on your impression of Lord Byron's "Darkness". You will find the poem on the class webpage."

He walked to the front of the podium with his tablet in hand, "But, today in class, we are going to discuss another poet. 'Tiger, tiger, burning bright

In the forests of the night'

I'm sure a few of you did the suggested reading." He looked around the classroom, "Who wrote that?"

Castiel watched as the majority of the class looked awkwardly at their notebooks, tablets, or laptops, avoiding eye contact with him. Finally, one hand was raised in towards the front. To Castiel's surprise, it was the young man from last night. For all of his cocky attitude and brash demeanor, not to mention the outward appearance of a typical guy's guy, he would have thought this was a student who was used to sliding through his classes on charm and looks. It was a pleasant surprise to be proven wrong.

Dean answered, "William Blake." At Charlie's surprised look, he shrugged. "What? I read."

Professor Milton nodded in his direction, acknowledging Dean's correct answer with barely a pause in his lecture. Dean continued to watch him prowl confidently in front of the class. The difference between the self-conscious man he saw last night at the laundry mat and the confident instructor in front of him was surprising. Dean couldn't tell if the professor persona was a skin he could shrug on in the classroom or if this was the one place the man felt confident enough to be himself. While Professor Milton read Blake's "The Sick Rose" to the class and began to lead a discussion about the short poem, Dean listened with half an ear, wondering how he could get to know this riddle of a man a little better.

Dean's musings were interrupted by a deep voice, "Who would like to explain what this poem means to them?" The dark haired man asked, gazing around the class with his freakishly blue eyes.

Dean looked around at his classmates as they sat quietly. No one wanted to be the first to respond. Finally, a skinny, shaggy haired guy near the back of the room raised his hand.

"Isn't it about a worm killing a rose?" he asked, with a shrug.

Professor Milton pointed a hand at the student, an intense look in his eyes but a smile on his face. "On the surface, yes. But, if we look a little deeper mister…?" He asked.

"Garth Fitzgerald the fourth, sir." The guy answered, a happy-go-lucky smile on his face.

"Alright, Garth." Professor Milton answered with a smile, "On the surface, it is about a rose being told that it is sick and dying because of a worm. Anyone else see anything else?"

Dean raised his hand slowly. The instructor looked over at him.

"Yes, Mister…?"

Dean filled the blank space, saying, "Winchester. Umm… Dean Winchester."

The teacher raised his eyebrows and waited, studying Dean. "What are your thoughts, Dean?"

Dean leaned back in his seat and rested on elbow against the top of his tablet desk. "It's about perversion. The rose is this beautiful thing, like love, and the worm is symbolic of perversion sneaking in and destroying it. Kind of like the snake sneaking in and destroying the Garden of Eden."

Although his face was blank, Dean had a felt like there was a smile in the blue eyes studying him. He felt a quiet sort of approval at the look. "Very good, Mr. Winchester."

Looking up at the rest of the room, he continued on describing Blake's childhood and the poet's belief that angels spoke to him.

Dean, unlike many of his classmates, wasn't bothering to take notes. His laptop sat forgotten in front of him. If he needed notes later, he knew Charlie would email hers to him. He didn't think he would need any. He had gone through a Blake phase after he had watched the movie Red Dragon a few years ago. Most of the authors work and history he could remember. He hadn't really found the appeal in Blake's poetry, although many of his paintings had been interesting.

Before he knew it, the class was standing and gathering their things. The sounds of laptops snapping shut and being slid into bags, papers rustling, and the dull thud of footsteps filing past surrounded him. Charlie looked at Dean questioningly as she grabbed the strap for her messenger bag, "Want to grab some coffee? My next class isn't until one."

Dean nodded and waved her on, "I'll meet you at Leaves in a few." Charlie gave him an odd look but she nodded, "Alright, see you in a bit."

The room was empty once Charlie left, leaving just Professor Milton sorting through some papers at the front of the room. Dean slid his laptop into his bag and stood, walking up to the lectern.

"Nice clothes, Teach," he said, pausing next to the other man.

He stopped rustling his papers and turned to look down at Dean, a surprised look on his face, "Thank you, Dean."

Dean bit his lower lip and fought back a grin, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder before asking, "Did you use the Magic Fingers?"

The other man was unable to hide the blush creeping up the tan skin of his neck, even if his face belied any other reaction. "Can I help you with anything class related, Mr. Winchester?"

Dean grinned and winked. "I think I'm good, Teach. I'll see you around."

Dean walked out with a grin on his face, aware that his professor was watching his departure with a confused expression on his face.


	5. Leaves

5

Castiel returned to his office and slumped into the ergonomic chair behind his barren desk. Other than the laptop sitting on its surface, and a small stack of papers, there wasn't anything of his in the entire office. Maybe once the moving truck finally dropped off his things that afternoon, he could bring a few photos and some of his books in and make the space appear more lived in. There was a chair situated in front of his desk, a few empty bookshelves, and an old sofa in the corner. He was looking around the room, mentally making a list of changes he would like to implement, when a knock at his open door caused him to look up. A tiny, round faced woman with dark eyes and a fall of dark hair was leaning into the room.

"How did the first class go?" She asked with a small smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. Meg Masters, former college girlfriend, currently probably best friend, who also happened to be the person who had gotten Castiel this job, was a welcome distraction.

"Fine. I think I might have scared them with the workload."

Meg smirked, "That's a good thing. Fear is good for them. Want to grab some coffee?" She asked. "I'll show you around a little before you next class. How much time do you have?"

Cas looked at his watch, "About an hour and a half."

"Perfect," Meg grinned.

Castiel followed Meg out of the building and listened as she related a story about one of her earlier classes. She led him towards a small brick building down the street and on the corner.

Meg indicated the word Leaves painted in gold on the front window, "This place is great. It used to be a tea shop about a century ago. Now it's been renovated into a café. The cafeteria coffee is disgusting, so this place is definitely worth the trip."

Castiel opened the red painted wooden door and stepped into the building, immediately assaulted by the smell of ground coffee, the sound of milk being steamed, and some kind of music playing over the sound system that sounded like a mixture of folk and rock.

He looked around at the mismatched furniture, scraped pine floor and the giant wall behind the counter painted with chalkboard paint and covered with different kinds of beverages written in chalk. He thought he recognized a red headed girl from his first class sitting against the far wall. Meg stood next to him and nudged his arm with her shoulder. "Step up to the counter. You look like you've never been in a coffee shop before, Clarence."

Castiel rolled his eyes at the old nickname and fought a smile. He was glad Meg hadn't changed. He stepped towards the counter, ordered a medium Americano with room, and after counting out the proper change, stood to the side under a hand pained sign that said 'Pick Up'. After ordering an overly complicated drink, Meg stepped up beside him.

"So you've been awfully quiet. How have things been?"

Castiel grabbed the white coffee cup that the barista set on the counter in front of him, smiled at the whimsical sketch of a leaf on the brown cardboard sleeve and waited to answer Meg until they were settled at a small table near the window. He told her about the move, the moving company not showing up, and had just started to explain how he ended up doing his laundry the night before (leaving out the part of the story that included Dean Winchester) when he heard the bell jingle and a familiar voice place an order at the counter. He hadn't realized he had stopped talking and was staring at the back of the young man as he waited for his coffee and chatted with the pretty blonde barista at the counter until Meg pointedly cleared her throat. Sheepishly, he looked back across the table at her. She returned his look with a glare and raised eyebrows.

"I know I ruined you for all other women back in college, but you don't need to rub it in by checking out another guy right in front of me."

Castiel tried to stammer out an excuse and Meg's expression quickly transformed into a wide snarky smile he knew all too well.

"I'm just kidding. Although," Meg turned to look at the man at the counter. "You might actually want to lay off of that one. He's a student. I had him in my Intro to Fiction Writing class last semester. Guy's a damn good writer. Must have been kind of childhood tragedy or something. Deep themes for a guy that age."

Castiel couldn't help the surprised expression on his face. "He was a student of yours?"

Meg nodded and took another sip of her drink. "Sure was, Clarence. I know, it's shocking. Looks more like he should be standing in front of Hollister with his shirt off. "

Rolling his eyes at his friend's observation, Castiel rolled the cup between his palms, enjoying the warmth that seeped into his hands. "He's actually a student of mine, too." Castiel said, pretending an interest in the grain of the tabletop.

Meg nodded, "I think he might be in my Advanced Fiction class this semester. I hope so, anyway. I would much rather read his papers than some of the crap these kids write. Jesus, if I have to read one more vampire love story I'm going to kill someone."

Dean ordered a black coffee and made small talk with Jo, the barista, while she filled his cup.

"How late are you working? And, I should warn you. Sammy's cooking tonight." He added, wondering if she would be stopping by the apartment later like she usually did to mooch dinner before heading to the dorms. He still wondered at the choice to live in the dorms even though she had grown up nearby with Bobby and Ellen. But, Jo craved independence, even if that meant she had to live with a roommate in a dorm room the size of a small walk-in closet.

She sighed and slid the cup across the counter, "Only until three. Mom wants me to come home for dinner tonight."

Dean gave her a stern look and took the steaming cup, "She's your mother, Jo."

Jo rolled her eyes, "I know. I know. I'm going so you don't need to nag."

"You're such a brat." Dean told her, getting ready to turn and walk to where Charlie was waiting at their usual table.

Before he could leave, Jo hissed at him, "Don't look now but some guy is checking you out."

"Where?" Dean asked.

"He's sitting by the window with Masters. Dark hair, blue eyes, cheekbones that could cut glass. Totally not your type. Send him my way," She teased with a wink. Dean surreptitiously glanced toward the window and saw Laundry Guy sitting with Professor Masters.

"Yeah, that guy is a professor here too." Dean quietly told Jo.

Jo whistled, "What class, I want to sign up."

Dean answered with a grin, "Romantic Lit and Culture."

Jo rolled her eyes and shooed him away, uninterested in anything outside of her criminology field, "Go away nerd."

Dean backed away and called back loud enough he's sure most of the room heard him, "Whatever, brat. I'll remember you said that next time you show up at my place."

He walked over to Charlie and placed his cup on the table before spinning his chair around and straddling it. Charlie looked up from her iPad and narrowed her eyes at him.

"So, Dean Winchester is a poetry expert. The things you learn about your best friend."

Dean shrugged and took a sip of coffee, hissing after he swallowed, the steaming liquid burning his tongue. "What can I say? I have hidden depths."

"Well, Mr. Hidden Depths, I totally noticed you eye fucking our prof for most of the class. And yes, I know he is sitting by the window. What was that about?"

Smirking, Dean looked across the room where the uptight professor was frowning at whatever Professor Masters was saying. "I have no idea, but I'm pretty sure it's a bad idea."

Charlie just shook her head and looked back at her iPad. "Just don't get him fired or yourself kicked out. 'Discretion is the better part of valor.'"

"I can't believe you are quoting Shakespeare at me," Dean said, shaking his head.

Charlie smiled up at him, "I didn't even know that was Shakespeare. I just like to say that during my Queen of Moons speech before I send the troops into battle."

Dean shook his head, "And Jo calls me a nerd."

As they finished their coffee, Dean looked over at Charlie and asked, "What are the rules about students and teachers here?"

Charlie looked at him like he was crazy. "I was joking, Dean."

"I know but seriously, how big of a deal are we talking about here?"

She groaned and started typing something onto her tablet. "You are an idiot. Just be glad I love you so much."

"I know," he answered, grinning cockily.

After a few minutes of tapping on her screen, Charlie looked up. "Frowned upon but it isn't really forbidden. But the guy is new so first of all, if he even swings that way, which you don't know yet…," She paused," Ohmygod…do you know?"

"No, I don't know." He laughed.

"Okay," she continued, "first of all, he is new. So he isn't tenured. They could just not hire him back next year. And secondly, he is your professor. It's just a really bad idea. People could think you were trading sex for grades or something."

"Okay," Dean answered.

"Okay?" Charlie asked.

"I said okay, okay." Dean shrugged looking towards the window.

Charlie groaned and began to type something on her phone. Dean watched her curiously, "What are you doing?"

"Texting Jo and Victor, planning an intervention."

"You aren't.""

"Wanna bet?" Charlie shot back, flipping her phone towards him so he could see the message she had sent.

"You suck."

"Whatever. This would only work if you knew how to be discrete. And you don't. You were totally obvious in class today. If he is half as bad as you are, _if he is even interested_, you two would spend all of your time sending UST filled glances at one another."

Dean frowned into his coffee. "You still suck."


	6. Responsibilities

6

This chapter didn't get much in the way of proofreading so I'm sorry for any errors. This chapter is also a little unbalanced, being more from Dean's POV than Cas's but that will probably switch back and forth throughout the story. Once again, thanks for the review, follows and favs. :) And, also, there are a few comments from readers who I think used to follow Waiting Rooms and Elevators. Thanks for reading this one too! You guys are so awesome :)

Castiel was ridiculously happy to see the moving truck pull up to his apartment that afternoon. Once the movers had brought in his boxes and placed his furniture in the designated places, he spent the rest of the evening unpacking boxes and eating Chinese food he'd had delivered while sitting at his small kitchen table.

After he had placed his empty water glass in the dishwasher and closed the cardboard cartons, placing them in the nearly empty fridge, he noticed how completely silent the apartment was. He made a mental note to search out his iPod dock so at least he could listen to music. He thought about buying a television. He had never had much use for one before, but at least it would provide some background noise. He also needed to make a list of groceries he would need at the store.

He wasn't much of a cook, when he had lived closer to his family they often took pity on him and invited him to dinner. Anna would even bring groceries over and cook for him, making sure he wasn't starving and ensuring he had some social interaction. Castiel often thought his family worried over him needlessly. They often thought of him as shy and reclusive, when in reality he just had little patience for small talk and conversation empty of meaning. He didn't feel the need to fill every empty silence with hollow chatter. He preferred to only speak when he had something significant to add. His siblings had dragged to him to too many parties only to hover and goad him along when he only wanted to sit on the fringes and occupy himself with people watching, or sitting silently, wishing for a good book to read.

He shook himself from thoughts of his overbearing but well-intentioned family, ready to get back on the task of unpacking and then finish the lecture outline for tomorrow.

Dean left school after his afternoon classes and went to work at Bobby's for a few hours. It was his off night at The Roadhouse, so instead of rushing home to shower off the oil and grime before rushing back to his second job, he spent some of the extra time working on Sam's birthday present. Bobby had given him an old junker that Dean was slowly restoring. His goal was to have the car finished for Sam's next birthday which was still months away.

Bending over the open hood of the car, Dean quickly lost track of time. Not realizing until he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket that it was nearing evening. Wiping his hands on a shop rag, he fished the phone out of his pocket and glanced at the text from Sam.

**Sammy: Dinner will be ready in 40 minutes.**

After quickly cleaning up his work area, he slipped out of his overalls and scrubbed up at the shop sink. Dean watched the water run gray with grease and muck as he rubbed granular soap onto his skin. Thoughts that had been floating around the back of his mind drifted to the forefront as he was busy with the mindless task. He was thankful for the insurance money that had been left after his dad had died. It was enough that he knew he would be able to finish college and send Sam to school when the time came. But, Dean wanted to be able to fulfill Sam's big dream of going to Stanford. For some reason the twerp had fixated on a fancy school that might as well have been a lightyear away. Other than using the insurance money to pay for college, the funeral, and settle a few small debts John had left behind, Dean refused to touch the remainder of it.

Instead, he worked for Bobby and Ellen as much as he could to pay for his and Sam's living expenses. He picked up odd jobs now and then when he had extra time when classes weren't in session. Over the summer he had worked for a landscaping company and during the holiday season he worked at a Christmas tree farm. He knew Sammy thought he was crazy, leaving all of that money to sit in the bank while he worked two jobs and clipped coupons to stretch his paychecks farther, but Dean refused to budge. Sammy deserved the best. If that was Stanford, so be it. And Dean wasn't going to let the kid sign his life away on student loans he would be paying on until his kids were in high school. So what if Dean lost a little sleep and their apartment was tiny? He was making it work.

Once the water ran clear, Dean quickly dried his hands, waved a goodbye to Bobby, who was working on some paperwork in the office, and jumped in his car to head home. His car, a 1967 Chevy Impala that had been his dad's pride and joy, felt as familiar and home-like as anyplace Dean had ever known. Certainly, even more than the apartment he and Sam currently occupied. From Bobby's, it was a short drive into town and soon, Dean was parking his baby in her parking space outside of their apartment.

He walked up the two flights of stairs, turned his key in the lock and shoved his shoulder into the door, using a little more force than usual because it had been sticking lately. He yelled, "Sammy, I'm home," as he hung his keys on a hook by the door and shrugged out of his jacket.

Sam called back from the kitchen. Dean popped his head in to check on Sam before heading to the bathroom to shower. Sammy was sprawled in one of the rickety kitchen chairs, long, gangly limbs emphasizing that his sixteen year old frame would soon pass Dean up in height at any moment. His brown hair was just starting to flop into his eyes, Dean had been nagging him about getting a haircut, but so far Sam had just shrugged him off.

"Smells good," Dean said, eyebrows raised in surprise. Usually, when Sam cooked, the food ended up barely recognizable. "What did you make?"

Sam looked up from the textbook he had been taking notes from, "Chicken enchiladas. They should be done soon."

"The frozen kind?" Dean asked, astonished.

"No," Sam replied, sounding offended. "Real ones, from scratch."

Dean shot Sam a knowing look. "Jess helped you didn't she?"

Sam just shrugged and looked back to his notes, a blush staining his cheeks.

Dean laughed, "I like her. That Ruby girl you've been bringing around makes me nervous."

Sam rolled his eyes before glaring at Dean. "There's nothing wrong with Ruby, Dean. She's just going through some stuff."

Shrugging, Dean turned into the hall to go shower, "Whatever, man. Don't say I didn't warn you."

After his shower, Dean pulled on a pair of sleep pants and a worn out t-shirt. Barefoot, he walked into the kitchen. Sam had moved his homework and set the table while Dean was in the bathroom. Together, they sat down with loaded plates and stuffed their faces with enchiladas.

_Another point for Jess_, Dean thought, _the food was amazing._ Dean wished some of that cooking skill would rub off on Sam. He listened while Sam talked about his soccer game after school the next day and while Sam debated on whether or not he should try out for drama club. The fall production was Out Town this year. Dean watched his brother ramble about school and his friends, practically glowing with that precious optimism and just all around general sun-shiny niceness that was Sam Winchester. Dean was thankful at that moment for the reminder of why he was doing all of this: busting his ass with school and two jobs. Dean's largest goal in life, at this point, was to keep Sammy happy and safe. He wanted Sam to grow into the amazing man Dean knew he would become.

When they were finished eating, Dean cleared the plates, loaded the dishwasher, and wrapped up the leftovers. Because, in the Winchester house, if you cooked you don't have to do clean up detail. Once everything was back in its place, with the table, counters, and stovetop wiped down, Dean joined Sam to work on homework.

After a search for the poem he needed for Romantic Lit, he pulled it up on the computer screen and began to read.

_Jesus_, he thought to himself, _could Milton have found a more depressing poem? _With a weary sigh, he scrubbed his hands across his face, before he pulled a notebook nearer to him and began taking notes.


	7. Castiel Realizes Something

6

Here are a few links to the poems discussed so far and in this chapter:

The Sick Rose poem/172938

She Walks In Beauty poem/173100

Darkness poem/173081

Sorry I'm updating a little late. I write all of this out during the week in notebooks and I type everything over the weekend. This weekend was just a little crazier than normal and then I got sidetracked writing a time stamp for Waiting Rooms. But, here it is! Hope you all enjoy. I don't currently have a beta so any mistakes are mine and I am really sorry. Thanks for reading and comments are always welcomed :)

XXXX

Thursday morning, Castiel looked around his lecture hall, noting the location of Dean Winchester and his red headed friend, a Ms. Charlie Bradbury, located in the first row. With a glance toward the clock, he called the room to order.

"Good morning. I hope you all had a productive week. Please pass your essays forward. I will expect your e-mailed copies by the end of the day. Then, turn your attention to the projection at the front of the room and read "She Walks In Beauty"."

As he collected the stacks of papers from those seated in the front row, Castiel glances around at his students. Most were squinting at the words on the front screen, some mouthing them to themselves, others were taking notes. Dean Winchester, he noticed, was doing none of those things. Instead, he appeared to be playing a game on his phone. Castiel narrowed his eyes before he shhok his head and moved back to the podium. He rifled through the stacks of papers, skimming the essays, trying to get a grasp on where the class stood in their comprehension.

When he came to Dean's, he pulled it from the stack and read it in its entirety. After he was finished, he stared at the neat double spaced lines for a moment while he collected his thoughts. Once again, he was surprised by this particular student. He looked up at the class. Winchester was still playing on his phone. Irked, Castiel tugged a hand through his hair, distracted and not realizing the dishevelment he caused.

"Ms. Bradbury," he said, because she, at least, seemed to have been paying attention. "What are your thoughts?"

She looked up at him, surprised. "About the poem?" She asked.

Castiel smiles and leaned against the podium. "Yes, your thoughts on the poem."

Charlie glanced back up at the words being projected on the screen. "Well, it seems like whoever wrote it loved her very much. Isn't the whole poem about how beautiful she is?"

"Anyone else," Castiel asked the class as a whole. "Is this poem about physical beauty?"

Another student near the back chimed in, "He talks about goodness and grace, aren't those more about inner beauty?"

Castiel smiled and pressed his hands together in front of him, "Maybe it is a combination of the two. Her dark natural beauty could be being compared to a glow from within."

When Castiel's gaze moved to Dean, he noticed an odd look on the other man's face. Castiel thought the other man obviously had some thoughts about the poem, but for some reason, he was unwilling to participate in the discussion. Dean glanced up and met Castiel's eyes,

"Mr. Winchester," the professor asked, "do you have something to add?" Considering he hadn't even seemed to read the subject matter in the first place, Castiel was interested in what the younger man would add.

Dean glanced at Castiel, clearly unhappy at being called upon. He was silent for a moment, jaw tense, his normally warm eyes hardened into cold chips of emerald.

"She's dead." He said, finally, just short of hostile.

Castiel noticed some of the other students looking to one another in confusion. Several were rereading the poem, trying to glean the meaning Dean had derived from it. He noticed Charlie looking worriedly at her friend, biting her bottom lip. Castiel had a feeling he was several pieces of a bigger puzzle.

"There are some who believe the poem was written about a relative of Byron's after he attended her funeral, but it is not one of the more commonly held theories. Why do you interpret it that way?" Castiel asked quietly, forgetting for a moment, the room filled with students.

Dean shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, unsure of himself, a direct contradiction of every other glimpse Castiel had had of him. Finally, he answered, "Byron said she was "at peace with all below," to me, that always meant she was somewhere else… in heaven. Plus, the part of her beauty being "like the night" makes me think of funeral clothes." He looked up then, tilting his head back, some semblance of arrogance entering his posture. Castiel was reminded of an actor slipping into a character before going on stage.

Dean added, "And, Byron didn't seem to have a hard on for her, unlike other women he wrote about."

Castiel barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes. He looked to the rest of the class, calling on a student whose hand was raised, guiding the discussion back to other student's interpretations.

He continued with his lecture until a quick glance at the clock led him to dismiss his students. As the class began to file out, he held up a hand, halting Dean. Dean nodded, turned to his friend and said something quietly to her before she walked out.

After waiting for the last student to leave, Castiel turned to Dean, noticing for perhaps the first time the evenness of his bone structure, the golden hue from the remainder of his summer tan spread with freckles, and green eyes surrounded by a fringe of dark lashes…and his mouth…

Castiel caught the direction of his runaway thoughts and mentally shook himself, ignoring the curl of heat spreading down his spine. _This is unfortunate_, he thought to himself. While he often could appreciate physical beauty from an aesthetic standpoint, generally any sexual attraction Castiel felt for another person was a rare occurance. He just wasn't wired that way. And, sexual attraction to a student… well, that was just something he had never thought about. He felt a confusing, conflicting series of emotions working their way through his mind. He pushed them away and focused instead on the question he had meant to ask Dean.

Blinking, he realized he had been staring dumbly, while Dean had been waiting.

"I'm really sorry," he said quietly, feeling rather embarrassed. "I was just wondering, um, I mean, I noticed you didn't need to read the projection today. I also read through your essay. Some of your observations were very insightful-"

Dean cut him off before he could finish the rambling train of thought. "Yeah, I already knew it."

"From a previous course?" Castiel asked, finding himself more and more curious about the mystery before him. Something flickered behind Dean's eyes. Castiel felt like he was watching the mask slip back over Dean's face. Suddenly, he was the cocky kid from the Laundromat once again.

Dean obviously surveyed Castiel's body from head to toe before he shot a coy look toward the older man. He reached out with one hand and minutely adjusted the professor's blue tie. When he answered, his voice was pitched low. Castiel fought the shiver it elicited, but he couldn't stop his eyes from widening and returning Dean's stare with a shocked look from his blue eyes.

"Listen, Professor, I don't really have time to chat right now." Dean grinned and smoothed the tie down. Castiel could feel his fingertips trace a path from the hollow of his throat to the tip of his breastbone.

"But, maybe we could meet somewhere in the evening and talk about it. Get to know each other a little better?" He ended the question with a lift of eyebrows and a knowing smirk.

Castiel felt like every thought process he had ceased to function. Finally, he stammered, "I don't think that would be appropriate."

Dean leaned in a little closer, near enough that Castiel could feel his breath stir the air next to his ear. With his voice pitched even lower, he said, "We wouldn't have to tell anyone. I can keep a secret."

Dean took a pen and wrote a phone number on the back of a crumpled receipt he pulled from his pocket and folded it. With a wink and another smirk, he tucked the folded scrap of paper into Castiel's pocket and walked out of the room. Castiel stared at his broad retreating shoulders, completely unsure of what he should do next.


	8. Heated Moment

8

Dean sat through one more lecture after lunch before driving to The Roadhouse to work the rest of the afternoon and evening waiting tables. Ash was behind the bar pulling drinks while Benny was working tables with Dean. During the lull after the dinner crowd cleared out, Benny and Dean commiserated over Professor Masters's Advanced Fic class.

"Masters makes my papers bleed," Benny complained.

Dean nodded as he wrapped silverware, "I know, man. She loves the red ink." Ash walked over and tapped the countertop next to Dean, "A couple of those professor types just sat down in your section."

"Speak of the Devil," Benny said under his breath. Dean looked across the room and grimaced when he spotted the couple sitting at a four-top. Masters and another professor, Dean couldn't remember his name, he only remembered suffering through his art history course his second year, were seated in his section. The guy was pretentious, British, and had a habit of wearing v-neck shirts.

Dean pasted his best 'My Name Is Dean, How Can I Help You' smile on his face and walked over to their table. Before he managed to say anything, Professor Masters looked over.

"We're still waiting on someone."

The other guy, Dean finally remembered his name, Roche, interjected, "Wait! Meg, let's order drinks before Cassie gets here."

Dean looked between the man and woman, before asking, "Alright, Professor Masters, what can I get for you?"

She looked up at him with a smirk, "I'm not at work, call me Meg." Motioning to the man across from her, she continued, "And this fantastic fashion victim is Balthazar AKA Professor Roche."

Dean nodded and gave a half smile to the other man, "Yeah, I remember, I was in your session last year."

Meg continued, motioning to the empty seat next to Balthazar, "I think you know our friend, too."

Dean shrugged, "I haven't known anyone named Cassie since this girl I dated a few times in high school." For some reason that Dean didn't understand, Meg thought this statement was hilarious and laughed loudly. Sending her an odd look, Dean hesitated before asking, "So, what can I get you two to drink?"

"Vodka tonic for me," Meg said. Balthazar added, "And I'll have a bourdon neat." Dean nodded and walked to the bar to turn the order in to Ash. He glanced around the bar while he waited for the drink order. He noticed that the crown had thinned out and only a few of the tables were occupied. The regulars were seated on their usual stools, dipping hands into bowls of pretzels and nursing beers, while their eyes were glued to the flatscreens hanging above the bar. Tomorrow night, Friday, would be a different scene entirely. The weekend crowd consisted of mostly college kids, a live band would be playing on the stage and Dean would be lucky to get home before 3 AM instead of 11 like tonight.

Ash slid a tray with two drinks and a bowl of pretzels across the bar. With a quick thanks, Dean walked back to Meg and Balthazar's table to deliver them. He smiled politely, feeling like he was on the outside of a private joke when Meg sent him a Cheshire cat grin after he said he would be back to get the rest of their order after the rest of their party arrived. After stopping at another table to fill his tray with empties, he was distracted thinking about why Meg was acting so oddly smug, when he turned, and narrowly avoided running into someone. A firm hand gripped his right shoulder to steady him and Dean's train of thought abruptly ended.

If he had thought the man dressed in his professor suits, ties, and sweater vests had hit kinks Dean wasn't even aware he had, seeing him in his street clothes was enough to cause him to swallow his tongue. The professor was wearing old jeans that hung just low enough on his hips to be intriguing, a blue plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up his lower arms and worn open over a faded gray t-shirt. The shirt was misshapen from too many washings and hung loose at the neck, exposing a few inches of collarbone and the hollow of his clavicle. The shirt made his eyes even bluer, as did the five o'clock shadow. His hair, which had been neatly smoothed to the side during the start of class this morning, was tousled and wild, giving the impression someone had been running their fingers through it, making Dean's fingers itch to touch the dark strands.

The two men stood, staring at one another, before Balthazar yelled across the room, "Hey, Cassie, get your ass over here."

Dean started at the voice and the other man dropped his hand from where it had been gripping his shoulder. Dean asked, confused, "You're Cassie?"

"Castiel." The other man corrected. "Balthazar insists on using that ridiculous nickname. Mostly, I'm sure, because he knows how much it annoys me."

Dean adjusted his grip on the tray of glasses and Castiel glanced down at it. With a sheepish smile, he stepped backwards, "I should let you get back to work." He turned and Dean watched him walk across the room to join Meg and Balthazar.

XXXX

"You're doing it again," Meg said, throwing a pretzel at Castiel's face. Castiel flushed, catching himself staring, again, at the young man leaning against the bar talking to the bartender, who Castiel recognized as the desk attendant from the motel.

"Sorry," Castiel said, looking to his friends, "I was just thinking about work."

Meg laughed, "God, you are a shitty liar." Balthazar snorted before tilting his head back to drain his drink, "We know what you were thinking about, Cassie."

Castiel could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, he looked down at the wood grain of the table, tracing the lines with his fingertips.

"If you need some advice, I'm sure Balthazar could give you some. He's one of those professors that likes to creep on his students."

"Oh, shut up," Balthazar replied, "It's only happened a few times."

Meg rolled her eyes and added, "A year." Castiel sighed and reached for the glass of water in front of him. He took a long drink of the cool liquid before looking over towards Balthazar.

"I thought student/professor relationships were against the rules." He asked.

Balthazar rolled his eyes. "Of course they are, but no one actually enforces it. I mean, as long as no one draws attention to themselves, it happens all the time."

Castiel fidgeted with the wrapped bundle of silverware in front of him. "I'm lucky to even have this job at my age. I'm not going to jeopardize it by acting untoward."

Meg laughed, "Yeah, I forgot you are the baby of the Fine Arts department. You realize you are only a year younger than I am."

Castiel continued. "You know what I mean, you're thirty, I'm twenty-nine, professors our age are almost unheard of. And, we would both like to remain on the tenure track, I'm sure. I just really don't want to ruin this opportunity."

"Cassie, my dear, you need to lighten up." Balthazar said.

As he finished speaking, Dean appeared at the table carrying a tray with their meals. He set everything in front of them and after checking to make sure no one needed anything else, began to walk away. Meg, reaching for the ketchup, knocked a glass over, dousing Castiel's shirtfront with cold water and ice cubes.

Castiel jumped up with a yelp, causing Dean to turn back towards the commotion. He walked back while Meg was attempting to dab at the soaked shirt with a napkin.

"Shit, man. You are soaked." He stated, obviously, taking in the saturated clothing. "Everything else okay?" He asked, looking at the food, making sure no one's orders were ruined.

Castiel ineffectively wiped the shirt with a drenched napkin, "I think everything is fine. I was the only thing that got in the way."

Dean rubbed the back of his neck and hesitated before saying, "We might have some spare uniform shirts in the employee locker room. You come back with me and we can check. Then you can at least eat your meal in dry clothes."

Castiel looked up and smiled tentatively at Dean. "Thank you, I would appreciate that."

Meg and Balthazar exchanged a look as Castiel followed Dean away from the table.

XXXX

Once they were in the locker room, which was really just a small room with a fridge, two tables with chairs, and old television playing a football game on mute, and a row of lockers that had been rescued from a dumpster after the high school had been renovated, Dean gestured to Castiel,

"Go ahead and strip that wet stuff off, I'll look around and see what we have." He began to rummage through a box he pulled off of the top of the fridge. Castiel stood uncertainly in the middle of the room before he pulled the damp plaid off, dropping it to a pile at his feet.

Dean let out a sound of success and held up a red t-shirt emblazoned with The Roadhouse logo, "Found one." He looked up and froze and he watched Castiel's right arm reach behind his head and grip the collar of his wet t-shirt, pulling the sodden grey fabric up and over his head one-handed. _Another kink he didn't know about_, Dean thought to himself. _Who knew watching someone slip off a t-shirt could be so sexy._

Dean was still staring, watching the play of muscles under taught tanned skin, when Castiel looked up at him. As blue eyes snagged on green and held, Dean felt like something shifted in the air. Dean slid his tongue out and licked his lips, fighting down the flash of triumph as Castiel's eyes followed the movement. Without thinking, the younger man stepped forward until he was firmly in Castiel's space. The other man watched him, eyes wide, pupils flaring until the blue was almost a thin ring around the pools of black.

"This is a really bad idea," Castiel said lowly, voice even more gravelly than normal.

"I know," Dean answered right before he closed the gap between the two of them. He curled one hand around the back of Castiel's neck, pulling him closer, before pressing their mouths together. Castiel leaned fervently into the kiss, tilting his head and licking into Dean's mouth. He took a step backwards, Dean following, unwilling to break apart for a moment, until Castiel's back was pressed against the door. Dean leaned his body against the other man's, hissing into his mouth as Castiel slid his hands underneath Dean's shirt, spreading a path of heat across his skin.

After what felt like endless minutes of exploring each other's mouths Dean slid his lips along the edge of Castiel's jaw and nibbled a path down the other man's neck, stopping to scrape his teeth along the sharp jut of collarbone. Dean slid a thigh between the juncture of Castiel's thighs, biting his lower lip at the hard line of Castiel's arousal. Castiel lolled his head back against the door, closing his eyes and drinking in the sensation.

Dean paused and tilted his head back, "Cas, give me a second to lock the door and check my bag for a condom."

Suddenly, at those words, Castiel felt like he had been doused in ice water again. He opened his eyes, taking in the sight before him. Dean's hair was mussed, his lips reddened and swollen, green eyes burning with lust.

"I can't do this," the older man said.

Dean blinked, surprised. "Are you serious? It'll be fine. Just let me lock the door. If Ellen finds out I'm fooling around back here again she'll have my ass."

Castiel shook his head as if trying to shake off a stubborn dream. He pulled away from Dean and grabbed his wet shirt off of the floor. Pulling the plaid on over his bare chest, he looked away from the astounded man.

"Do you do this often, then?" He asked as he buttoned up the wet garment.

"Do what?" Dean asked, still trying to shake off the haze fogging his brain.

Castiel gestured with one hand at the two of them, "This, back here. With people you barely know."

Dean shrugged, once again Castiel felt like he was watching the younger man slip on another persona right in front of his eyes. Dean crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, "I'm sorry, but about 30 seconds ago, you were just as into this as I was. And now, you are _judging_ me? Fuck you. I'm twenty-one. So what if I want to hook up with a random attractive guy in the back room once in awhile. It doesn't _mean_ anything."

Castiel finished with his shirt and looked up at Dean, there was a hint of sadness in his blue eyes. "Maybe for you it doesn't mean anything," he said, "but for me, it has to mean something."

Castiel walked to the door and hesitated before his hand turned the knob, he looked over his shoulder at Dean, "I don't know you well, but I think you deserve more than this."

"You're right, you don't know me. You don't know a single thing about me," Dean answered, venom in his voice. "So the next time you want to act like you have a clue about my life, do me a favor and just… don't."

Cas swallowed and nodded stiffly, once before opening the door and walking into the direction of the bar. He made his excuses to Meg and Balthazar, feigning a sudden headache and left shortly after.

Dean stayed in the locker room for a long while, leaning against the wall, jaw tense and furious, before he felt composed enough to go back out to work and fake feeling normal again.


	9. A Little Broken

9

A little broken…

Apologies for not updating last week, I had some horrific version of the flu. Also, Dean is a little more broken than I thought when I started writing this. So, beware for some angst. Thanks again for the comments

XXXX

"Ok, what's the deal?" Charlie asked, a few weeks later, as they were walking across campus towards Leaves after an afternoon lecture.

"What are you talking about?" Dean asked, looking ahead, as he continued walking and adjusted the strap to his messenger bag.

"You've been kind of a dick in Milton's class lately. What's up?"

Dean continued to walk, squinting into the sun as he swiveled his head to watch a car cruise by. "I just think he's a pretentious asshole, that's all."

Charlie narrowly avoided getting stepped on as she stopped dead on the sidewalk. "Are you serious? You were like all nauseating heart-eyes over the guy not too long ago. What happened?"

Dean veered off to the left when the sidewalk split before it ran into a road, Charlie half-jogged to catch up.

"So what happened?" She asked.

Dean stopped in front of the entrance to Leaves. "You buying?" He asked, with a raised eyebrow.

Charlie snorted, "Only if you tell me what's going on."

Dean rolled his eyes and pushed the door open with his shoulder. "Fine," he grumbled.

Once they were seated, with steaming cups between them, Dean recounted the events of the night at The Roadhouse. When he was done, Charlie sighed and shook her head softly side to side, a few strands of her short red hair slipping forward into her eyes. She brushed them back with one hand before leaning her elbow onto the table and cupping her chin in her palm.

"You're being kind of an idiot," she said bluntly but with affection coloring her voice.

Dean looked up, "I don't know if I should be insulted or pissed off."

"I know you're Dean Winchester and you like to make everyone think you are allergic to feelings, but remember, aside from Jo and Sam, I probably know you better than anyone else on this planet, so I'm going to be honest. I'm using my one-chick flick moment allowance up for the semester. You're making this all about you. Some people don't have random hook-ups with strangers. There are even some people who only have sex if they have an emotional attachment to someone. You, on the other hand, seem to be the opposite."

Dean twirled the cardboard sign perched on the table advertising a new selection of latte flavors and avoided eye contact.

Charlie raised a brow and angled her head slightly, "Think about it. When was the last time you had sex with someone who wasn't practically a stranger. Or, even called the next day…or ever. I'm not judging at all, believe me." Charlie smiled impishly. "I'm not the posterchild for meaningful relationships. But, even I think you deserve more than what you let yourself have. I love you like a brother, but you have issues, sweetie."

He took a drink of his coffee and watched the ripples on the surface of his cup as he set it back down. Charlie waited a beat, and after deciding Dean wasn't going to answer, she pushed on.

"I'm not saying there is anything wrong with y'know, "she gestured towards Dean with one hand, "the way you are living your life. But, just because someone else isn't as cavalier about sex as you are, doesn't make them an asshole."

After Charlie's little speech, Dean quickly changed the subject; ignoring the look she shot him that said she knew he was avoiding any further discussion. They exchanged offhand comments about classes and conferred about a party the next weekend they might go to, before Charlie realized the time and darted out with a quick farewell.

Once Charlie was out of sight, Dean pulled his phone out of his pocket and slipped in his earbuds. The hipster music playing on the sound system was getting on his nerves. He turned on his Metallica playlist, pulled a notebook and pen from his bag, and wrote; refusing to let his thoughts wander to the things Charlie had said.

He worked late enough, that afternoon turned into early evening. The autumn sunsets were falling earlier and earlier, and the weather was unpredictable as it often was in the fall. Dean looked up towards the window as a rumble of thunder rolled through the air. The morning had started out warm enough he had decided only wear a hoodie instead of a jacket. He had also parked all the way across campus. _ Fuck_, he thought to himself as enormous raindrop began to splash on the sidewalk outside. Waiting the storm out from inside the coffee shop was out of the question, he needed to pick up Sam in half an hour from some meeting at his school. With a sigh, he shoved his things back into his bag, and walked to the door. After throwing the strap of his messenger back across his body, he pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up and dashed into the increasing downpour.

XXXX

Castiel was preparing to leave his office just as the deluge began. After donning his tan trench coat, he grabbed his briefcase and the umbrella leaning near the door before walking from his office. He had parked in one of the large lots that were set a ways behind the Fine Arts complex. While there was plenty of parking at the college, it was rarely conveniently placed.

As he left the building and walked brusquely down the sidewalk, the lights set in the iron lampposts began to flicker on. The glow created from the lights reflecting through the millions of droplets of rain pounding down around him created a haze, giving everything a softer appearance. When he made it to the parking lot, Castiel was just unlocking the door to his compact car when he heard a loud metallic clang ring through the thunder of the downpour followed by the indistinct sound of cursing. Castiel hesitated before he stepped away from his car and walked farther into the lot. He stopped abruptly when he saw Dean Winchester, standing in the rain, soaked to the skin, staring at a flat tire on the black beast of a car, while holding a tire iron in his hand.

"Can I be of some assistance," he asked, once he was close enough to be heard over the rain.

Dean jumped and looked at his with a shocked expression on his rain streaked face, "Where the fuck did you come from?" He yelled, startled.

Castiel took a step back and pointed in the direction of his car, "I was just getting ready to leave and I thought I heard someone in distress."

Dean gestured towards Castiel with the tire iron, "You're lucky I didn't hit you with this thing. You can't just sneak up on people like that."

Adjusting his grip on the umbrella handle, Castiel shrugged, "I'm very sorry I startled you. Are you having some trouble?" He asked again.

Dean turned to look his car, pointing at the bad tire. "I had to walk across campus in this goddamn storm and then I saw I had a flat tire. I've been trying to change it but this lugnut must be freaking crossthreaded or something because I can't get it loose. Shit," he muttered, looking back at Castiel. "Do you know what time it is?"

Castiel glanced at the watch on his wrist, "Almost six."

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered, "I'm supposed to be picking Sam up any minute." He tossed the tire iron back into the trunk, pushing the trunk closed, before swiping the back of one arm across his face. He looked up hopefully, "You got a phone I could use? Mine died about half an hour ago."

Castiel took enough steps nearer so that the edge of the umbrella protected Dean's head as well as his own from the rain. "Could you hold this?" he asked. Once Dean took the umbrella handle, Castiel reached into the inner pocket of his coat and removed his phone. He slid his finger across the screen, unlocking it before holding it out to Dean.

Dean wiped his free hand on his soaked jeans before taking the phone with a small smile, "Thanks, Cas." He quickly dialed and was soon talking to whoever Sammy was. Castiel stood awkwardly, trying to look over Dean's shoulder and avoid eye contact while the other man had a private conversation while the two men were sharing the same small space under the shelter of the umbrella.

After a moment, Dean said goodbye and hung up the phone. "Thanks, man. I was supposed to pick up my brother from school but he said his friend's mom can give him a ride home."

Castiel took the phone and slid it back into his pocket. "It was no problem Dean." The two stood in uncomfortable silence for a moment before they both began speaking at the same time.

"Thanks for the phone-" Dean began, before Cas said, "Can I give you a ride somewhere?"

"What?" Dean asked.

Castiel motioned to the tire, "This storm isn't supposed to let up for a few hours. Would you like a ride somewhere?"

Sighing, Dean patted his hand along the sleek side of the car. Cas thought it almost seemed like he was sending it a silent apology.

"Yeah, I've got to get home. I've got work later. I'm going to be cutting it close as it is. You really don't mind?"

Shaking his head, Cas answered, "No, not at all. Grab your things and I'll take you wherever you need to go."

Dean quickly opened the door to his and grabbed his bag before following Cas back to the other man's vehicle. "Sorry about your seats," he said, once they were securely inside and out of the rain. "They are going to be soaked."

After starting the engine, Castiel checked the rearview mirror and back out of the parking space, "It's fine, Dean."

Other than a few short directions to Dean's place, neither man spoke during the short car ride to Dean's apartment. Dean hesitated once Cas had parked in the empty spot near the door, unsure of what to say. "Thanks for the ride."

Castiel looked over at Dean, face illuminated in the green glow of the dash gauges, and "It was really no problem. I was happy to help."

The younger man smiled slightly, and Castiel could see that this was the version of Dean that wasn't wearing any masks. For a moment, he was unguarded.

"Nice trench coat, by the way. Are you working on your Constantine cosplay?" He asked with a smile.

Castiel looked down at his clothing with a bewildered expression, "I don't understand that reference." Dean chuckled and shook his head, "Never mind, Cas."

"Well, whatever. You looked pretty unreal back there, standing in the haze all backlit by the streetlights. Look up John Constantine. You'll see what I'm talking about." Castiel smiled back, unsure of whatever it was about this other man's presence that made him feel like he was finally warm again. Whatever it was, Castiel was loath to leave.

Dean slid his hand to the door handle, before he could pull the door open, Castiel said in a rush of breath, "Dean, I know this is inappropriate, but would you like to have coffee sometime?"

Dean stopped as if frozen for a moment, before looking back at Castiel. Something, sadness maybe, hiding deep in the green depths of his eyes.

"I'm no good for you, Cas. I don't think that would be a good idea."

"Okay, Dean. I understand." Castiel answered back, quietly.

"You really don't, man. But really, just trust me. Thanks for the ride."

Before Cas could say anything else, Dean was out of the car and dashing through the rain, quickly entering the building and disappearing from sight.

Castiel sat in the car, listening to the rain pound down on the roof for a long time before he finally drove home.

XXXX

Dean took a scalding hot shower before work, mentally berating himself in turn for turning Cas down and for thinking about accepting his offer. By the time he was walking back out the door to the parking lot, where Benny was waiting to give him a ride, he had talked himself into believing he had made the right decision. Castiel was a smart, good looking guy; a professor with a great career ahead of him and a life full of possibilities. Charlie had been right, there wasn't anything wrong with wanting to know the person you were hooking up with past their first name and what kind of drink they like. But, Dean was just a nobody with a lot of messy scars he kept hidden on the inside. One who would probably work as a mechanic for the rest of his life while he filled notebooks with stories no one was ever going to read. Dean also spent every day of his life feeling like something fundamental was broken somewhere deep inside of him.

That night at The Roadhouse, Dean was his normal cheerful self. He flirted with anyone who was receptive, smiled and cracked jokes like nothing was weighing him down inside. If he went home with the girl who was sitting at the end of the bar nursing a drink, and whose eyes weren't quite the right shade of blue, and thought about someone else while the lights were off, well that was nobody's business but his own.


	10. Long Way Down

10

Sorry for the long hiatus, lovely readers. Holidays and family have really played havoc on my free time. Just want to give a heads up – there is some description of depression and a depressive episode in this chapter. I based this on my own personal experiences with a family member so please forgive me if I make any mistakes or errors. That wasn't my intention. I promise things will start looking up soon. Just some issues to get through first. As always, thank you so much for your comments, without them I don't know where I would get the drive some days. Thanks :)

XXXX

Castiel stood at the podium, watching the class as pens scratched across exam papers. The students were writing a midterm essay on the work of their choice. A few looked lost, most wore a slightly panicked expression, and then there was Dean Winchester. He appeared to be breezing through the exam, which was unsurprising, given the quality of work he turned in on a regular basis. While he had completely stopped participating in class, even going so far as to don sunglasses and prop his feet up on the chair in front of him and nap through one lecture, Castiel had only rarely been able to find fault in his work. He had quit calling on Dean during lecture two weeks after the flat tire incident. Dean had gotten so outrageous in some of his responses; Cas had decided avoiding any more potential embarrassment would be the best course of action. And then, Dean had started missing classes. His assignments were still being turned into Cas's inbox on time, but he hadn't attended a lecture in two weeks.

Dean looked tired and haggard. Castiel, knowing that any concern on his part would be unwelcome, knew he shouldn't press the issue, and watched helplessly as Dean seemed to struggle.

Once all of the exams were turned in and the students had gone, Castiel gathered them into a pile and walked down the hall to the stairs to make his way to his office.

"Cassie," he heard someone call from behind him. He turned and looked, to see Balthazar trying to catch up to him.

"Are you ready to go?" Balthazar asked, once he was next to him.

"I'm sorry?" Cas answered, bewildered. "Where are we going?"

"Did you forget, Cassie, my boy?" Balthazar steered him towards the stairs where they began to make their ascent. "I got roped into talking to a high school art club and you, my lovely friend, are going to keep me company."

Cas turned to look at the other man with narrowed eyes, "I don't believe this was ever mentioned before, Balthazar."

Balthazar shrugged unapologetically and practically shoved Castiel into his office. "Maybe I forgot. Grab your coat. It's a bit nippy out."

After dumping the exam papers on his desk, Castiel glared at his friend while shrugging into his coat, "Who thought it was a good idea to let you around impressionable children anyway?"

"Boggles the mind, doesn't it." Balthazar answered as he led the way out of the office.

After the short introduction Balthazar gave Castiel at the beginning of his talk, Castiel quickly paced to the back of the room and proceeded to observe the group from an out of the way location next to the refreshments table. He was wishing he had been able to bring some of his exams to grade while he waited, when a voice spoke up from next to him, startling him out of his musings.

"Excuse me," a tall boy with brown hair that seemed to have a habit of falling forward into his eyes, said as he tried to pass by Cas without touching him.

The boy grabbed a bottle of water and a few carrot sticks from the table before looking sideways at Cas.

"I think you teach my brother at the university," he said, after a moment of careful observation.

Cas turned his head to meet the boy's eyes. "Who is your brother?" He asked, careful to talk quietly and not interrupt Balthazar.

"Dean Winchester." The boy said before uncapping the water bottle and taking a drink. He brushed the hair back from his face before continuing, "My name's Sam."

"Hello, Sam." Castiel said, feeling like Dean's brother pointedly coming up to him was slightly odd. "Yes, I do have Dean in one of my classes."

Sam nodded and looked towards the front of the class where Balthazar was still speaking.

Feeling slightly awkward, Castiel attempted to make conversation. "Are you interested in art, Sam?"

Sam shrugged and turned a rueful grin in Cas's direction. "Not especially. My friend Jess is really into photography. Also," he said, motioning to a tall girl with blonde hair who was listening to Balthazar and a small Asian boy who appeared to be taking notes, "my friend Kevin joined because his mom thought it would look good on his college applications. I kind of got talked into joining."

Cas nodded, unsure of where to go with this conversation. Before he could give it much thought, Sam turned abruptly and asked quietly, "I know you have a lot of students, but you gave Dean a ride home that one time so you might be able to answer this. Has he been acting different?"

Looking into Sam's hazel eyes, much more serious and adult than most people his age, Cas thought carefully before answering.

"I don't know Dean very well, Sam. But, he has seemed more run down lately. I assumed it was exam stress since midterms are upon us right now."

One corner of Sam's mouth flinched downward before he seemed to force a quick, brittle smile. "You're probably right." He said. "It was really nice meeting you Mr. Milton." The boy nodded once and walked back to his seat with his friends before Cas had a chance to respond.

Once Balthazar was finally done talking, the students trickled out slowly. Many stopped by the table at the back to grab a snack before heading out. Cas watched as Sam, Kevin and Jess walked out into the hallway. Balthazar was still talking to the art club sponsor at the front of the room. After waiting patiently for another ten minutes, Castiel realized Balthazar's ulterior motives for talking to the high school group.

"You can head back, Cas." Balthazar said after he crossed the room, once the sponsor started to tidy up from the meeting.

"How are you going to get back to your car?" Castiel asked with irritation, wishing he had known this information earlier.

With a leer and a wink, Balthazar inclined his chin in the direction of the teacher at the front of the room, who was pulling on her coat. "Heather has agreed to have dinner with me so we could discuss our teaching methods."

Castiel rolled his eyes so hard it was a wonder it wasn't audible. "I'm sure you'll be discussing a lot of 'technique,' Balthazar." He replied, curling his index and middle fingers in agitated parenthesis.

"Have a nice night, Cassie," Balthazar called as Castiel slung his coat over his arm and stormed out into the hallway.

He pushed his way through the heavy glass double doors and walked into the frigid autumn air. The sun had long since gone down, night falling earlier and earlier as the season progressed. Before he could make his way to his car, Cas noticed two shapes standing near a bike rack at the edge of the parking lot. Sam Winchester was huddled miserably into a brown Carhart jacket, hands thrust into his pockets and a bookbag slumped at his feet; while Kevin was bundled in a parka, gloves, scarf, and some sort of fuzzy stocking cap with a ball at the top.

"Do you boys have a ride?" Castiel asked, worried about the boys standing out in the unseasonably cold temperatures for very long.

Sam and Kevin exchanged a look before Sam responded. "My brother is supposed to be on his way. He isn't answering his cell phone, but he never forgets to pick me up. If he wasn't coming he would have called."

"What about you?" Cas asks, looking at Kevin.

"Dean's supposed to give me a ride home too, my mom's out of town on business."

Narrowing his eyes and glancing between his car and the boys, Castiel hovers uncertainly. A strange man shouldn't really offer to give two teenage boys a ride home, but Dean and Cas were at the least acquaintances, so maybe it would be permissible.

"Why don't we wait a few more minutes? If Dean doesn't show up, I will either call you boys a cab or give you a ride home."

Kevin shrugs while Sam gives Castiel a measuring look.

After a moment, Sam nodded his head. "Alright. Thanks, Mr. Milton."

"You may call me Castiel, Sam…or Cas." He answered. Sam gave a tight smile and turned his gaze to the driveway.

When Sam stormed into the apartment, Dean was curled on the sofa, covered in a blanket, television muttering in the background. The front door slamming open sounded like a gunshot, startling Dean from his cocooned slumber. He blinked blearily and looked around in a daze before taking in the nuclear level bitch face Sam was sending him as he shrugged out of his coat and practically flung his bookbag across the entryway.

"What the hell, Dean?" Sam asked, voice raised and obviously upset.

Dean rubbed sleep from his eyes and fumbled for his cell phone lying on the coffee table. He glanced at the screen. After he realized the time and saw the multiple missed calls and texts from Sam, he leaned forward and buried his face in his hands.

"Shit, Sammy. I'm sorry. I don't know—"

Same cut him off before he could continue. "Are you still taking your meds?"

Dean straightened up and glared at him, voice rising in anger as he answered. "What kind of a question is that?"

"Look around, Dean." Sam said, gesturing to the apartment. Where, normally Dean was a bit of a neat freak. Being raised by a former marine can rub off on a person. Dean grew up with hospital corners, organizing canned goods and food boxes labels alphabetical and facing out, minimal clutter and daily tidying. Within the past few months, Sam had noticed Dean's normal habits dropping off. Laundry was piled in the living rooms, dishes constantly in the sink, and the entire situation was so unlike Dean, that Sam was worried. It wasn't that Sam minded cleaning and helping out, he didn't mind at all. And, he had been trying to keep the apartment clean but the total lack of care and effort on Dean's part was completely out of character.

"You aren't acting like yourself. Jo and Charlie are both worried about you. I've talked to Ellen and Bobby; they think something is wrong too." Sam's voice rose and grew more brittle as he continued. "You've missed shifts at The Roadhouse and at the shop and half the time I don't know where you are sleeping at night. I even talked to your professor today, Cas, and he's noticed."

Dean's jaw tightened angrily before he asked, "How did you meet Cas?"

"He gave me and Kevin a ride home today after you didn't show up." Sam shot back.

Dean stood and stomped angrily to his room, before he slammed his door he shouted back to Sam, "I don't need a fucking babysitter, Sam. Give me some space."

Sam stood and scowled down the empty hallway at the closed door, before he turned and walked into the kitchen. He opened the door to the cabinet above the microwave and grabbed the two amber bottles inside and dumped the first onto the kitchen table. With a heavy sigh, he began counting pills.

"I'm calling Dr. Barnes, tomorrow," Sam said later, after quietly opening Dean's door and taking in the huddled form on the bed.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Sam. I'm taking my meds. Leave me the hell alone," Dean replied, his voice sounding too weighed down and beaten to be angry.

"I know you are, but obviously they aren't working." Sam walked the few steps into the room and dropped down on the edge of Dean's bed.

"Fine. Call her. But I'm not going back to therapy so tell her to leave out her spiel about Dr. Moseley."

"You can tell her that at your appointment." Sam answered, hesitating before placing a hand on Dean's back. He rubbed softly between Dean's shoulder blades, remembering when Dean would do the same for him when he was sick or hurting when they were younger.

Dean was quiet for a long time. The only sound in the darkened room their quiet breathing, the muffled sound of a television in the next apartment and the occasional car passing outside.

"I'm so tired, Sam." Dean's voice hitches, a broken sound, buried in the pillow beneath his head. "I'm just fucking exhausted."

Sam nods even though he knows Dean can't see it. "I'm here, Dean. I'm here."

Sam waited until Dean's shoulders quit shaking and his breathing evened out. Once he knew his brother had managed to fall asleep, he returned to the living room and kitchen to straighten up and make dinner before trying to finish his homework without getting distracted by his thoughts.


	11. Here We Go Again

11

Dean knew better than to try and bullshit Dr. Barnes, or Pam as she insisted he call her. She could always see right through any posturing he would try. So here he was, sitting in the chair in front of her desk, answering the questions she was asking with a bored look on his face, just waiting for the exam to be over so he could go back home and crawl back in his bed. But he couldn't, because Sam was out in the lobby waiting, making sure he went to his appointment and he would drag him to the pharmacy afterwards and make sure Dean picked up his new meds, and watch him swallow his pills every day, twice a day, until Dean began to feel like he was living in a fish bowl. He'd been there before, done that.

"Have you lost interest or pleasure in doing things?" Pam asked, pen posed above the pad of paper on her desk. Pam might have been a doctor with several degrees and a hundred dollar pen, but she dressed her trim figure in jeans and band t-shirts and had framed concert posters hanging on her office walls between shelves packed with books and the occasional chunk of crystal or geode.

Dean rolled his eyes before answering, "I don't know, Pam. I've got a lot on my plate right now."

Pam stared him down. "I saw the Impala in the parking lot this morning."

Dean's felt a flush rise on his cheeks. Pam had talked to him about the car before at previous visits and knew that Dean treated Baby more like a child than a car. "I've been really tied up with things at home. There hasn't been a lot of time for the car."

"It's filthy, Dean. If that doesn't say something about your mental state, I don't know what does."

Shaking her head, Pam looked at the papers in front of her and said, "I'm marking that as a yes." Then she asked, "Are you sleeping too much, having trouble falling asleep or staying asleep?"

"Do we have to go through this list every time?" he asked, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"You know these are important questions to establish a baseline. Now, how are you sleeping?" Pam asked, watching him closely.

Heaving a huge sign, Dean sank farther into the chair. "I'm tired all the time. Right now I just want to go home and go back to bed."

Pam continued to ask questions, with Dean answering them truthfully. Finally, after what felt like an hour of pointless back and forth, Pam flipped through a few pages of Dean's records. She looked up and said, "So here's what we are going to do. I'm going to adjust your meds. You know the drill, you are going to feel like crap for seven to ten days until your body regulates. You might experience headaches, nausea, dry mouth, sleep pattern changes, loss of appetite, but those should pass after a few days. If you are still having trouble after a week, call me. We might need to try something else. I want to see you back in two weeks. And, I'm making you an appointment with Ms. Moseley. I will know if you don't show up. Don't get on my bad side, Winchester."

With a sharp smile, Pam slid a prescription slip across the desk and stood up to walk with Dean back out to the waiting room.

"Don't forget. Be back here in two weeks and I'll have Becky call you later with the time for Missouri's appointment."

Dean scowled as he and Sam walked out to the car.

XXXX

Waiting in the lobby of Ms. Moseley's office, Dean paged through an old cooking magazine. The first week on the new medication had been rough. The nausea and loss of appetite had been stronger than ever before for the first few days, leaving Dean with even less energy than before. Now, seven days later, he felt, if not one hundred percent, at least more human. He was sleeping a normal amount, eating three meals a day, and going to work and school was a tiny bit easier. He wasn't better. He didn't know if he would ever feel 'better,' but there was some improvement.

"Hello, Dean. How are you feelin', honey?" Missouri asked as she opened the door between the earth toned schemed lobby and her office. Dean stood and walked into the room, torn between the relief he always felt in Missouri's presence and a sense of failure for being back here again.

He waited until he was settled in one of the matching comfortable chairs next to a large picture window in Missouri's office.

"I'm starting to adjust to the new meds Pam put me on. Eating and sleeping better now." Dean answered, fidgeting with the hem of his flannel shirt and avoiding eye contact.

Missouri smoothed her bright blue floral patterned skirt as she sat in the chair matching Dean's. Her bracelets clinked together, and Dean looked up into chocolate brown eyes that radiated wisdom and kindness. Something about Missouri always made Dean feel like he was in a safe space. Catching his glance, Missouri smiled widely, bright white smile contrasting sharply with dark brown skin, causing soft wrinkles to form around the corners of her eyes.

"Well, that's a start then," she said. "Why don't you tell me how things have been going? Pam told me you've been having a rough time."

Dean had come to the appointment with every intention of withholding everything but the bare facts. But, as always when around Missouri, the floodgates opened. With an ease of familiarity, Dean began to talk and talk. He poured everything he had been feeling and withholding from Sam, Charlie, Jo, Bobby, everyone important in his life; people he hadn't wanted to burden with his problems. He spoke of the pressure from raising Sam, going to college, his jobs. Somehow he even brought Castiel into the discussion. After his long ramble, he looked up to see Missouri watching him, a small kind smile on her face. Dean finished with a final statement, "I feel like I let everyone down. I always mess everything up. I just don't know why these people put up with me. I feel like I'm waiting for them to see through me and realize how broken I am and leave. Because, eventually, they will leave me."

Leaning forward and patting his hand, Missouri nodded her head, "Let's see what we can do to help, honey."

XXXX

That night as he sat down to dinner, Sam watched him swallow his meds and then asked, "How was your visit with Ms. Moseley today?"  
>Dean sighed and slumped down in his chair, staring at the square of lasagna on his plate. "It was fine Sam."<p>

"Are you going to go back?" Sam asked timidly.

Dean looked up and caught the worried expression in Sam's hazel eyes. Somewhere, along the line, Sam had started to think Dean was one of his responsibilities. Dean wasn't sure how he felt about that. After a moment, Dean nodded. He picked up his fork and sliced a corner off of the lasagna.

"I'll go back."

"Good." Sam smiled, blindingly. Dean looked back down at his plate and nodded again, more firmly this time, trying to ignore the pricking sensation behind his eyes and the lump in his throat.


	12. Try and Try Again

Sorry this chapter is so late getting out. I like to update every week, but my daughter has had some health issues and writing has been on the back burner. I have a three day weekend coming up - Hopefully I can make it up to you all. Thank you so much for reading. Your comments really keep me going. Also, a HUGE thanks to Gaelicblue, who beta read this chapter for me. I really appreciate the help. You are awesome :)

12

Try and Try Again

Charlie slid a to-go coffee cup onto Dean's desk as she walked past to take her own seat. Dean looked over at her and mouthed "thank you" with a tired grin before bringing the steaming cup up to his mouth and taking a tentative sip. The past month of visits with Missouri, trips to see Pam to "check in" and medication adjustments had left Dean feeling like he was on a roller coaster ride. This week had been pretty great, actually. Dean felt on the upswing for the majority of the time, until this morning. He had woken up dragging and feeling like the proverbial black cloud was hanging over his head. But, he had dragged his sorry ass out of bed, taken a shower and even choked down some breakfast with his meds. He knew that days like this, days where hopelessness crawled under his skin and threatened to pull him down again, were expected while he was still pulling his way through the mess of depression, but it didn't make him feel like any less of a failure while he struggled through the day. It was hard to think of anything other than how much he wanted to go back home and curl up in his bed in his dark room.

Dean caught himself before slipping deeper into his funk and shook his head. He took another sip of coffee and looked at the clock at the front of the room. Cas was running late. With a small frown, he turned to Charlie.

"Where do you think Milton is?" he asked quietly.

Charlie shrugged and looked up from her iPad, "Not sure. We would have gotten an email if class had been cancelled."

Five more minutes passed and several of the other students were grumbling in their seats and making noises about leaving when Cas burst through the doors. He looked more harried than usual. His hair was mussed like he had been running his hands through it in agitation. He wore a white button up shirt, dark suit jacket and trousers, and a blue tie that looked like it was backwards. With an unassuming grin at the class, he dropped his briefcase and a stack of papers on the desk at the front of the room before waving one hand in apology.

"I'm sorry, class. I had a meeting that ran over." Cas slid the suit jacket off and tossed it next to his briefcase, before unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt and rolling the sleeves up toned forearms. As he was looking down while working on his sleeves, a lock of dark hair slid forward and curled over one blue eye. Dean's fingers itched to push it back.

Cas looked up, straight at Dean, and smiled a sort of quiet, close-lipped smile. A shock of something, some primal sense of awareness, zinged down Dean's spine. He didn't even realize it, but he smiled back.

Something about Cas's smile seemed to send a wave of warmth through Dean. Maybe it was the genuine goodness that seemed to radiate from the guy, or maybe the fact that he hadn't treated Dean like a quick fuck when he was offered the chance, whatever is was, they mutually seemed to catch themselves staring and quickly looked away. Dean stared down at his coffee cup, while Cas stood behind the lectern and began to speak.

XXXX

While a girl in the back of the classroom gushed about the romance in _Jane Eyre_ between Jane and Rochester, Dean doodled in the margins of his notebook and halfway listened. Finally, he couldn't take anymore and turned to look at the back of the class, trying to find the speaker.

"Are you serious, right now?" he asked disbelievingly. "You really think this is an example of a great love story?"

The girl, taken aback by Dean's vehemence, nodded uncertainly. "Well…yes," she answered.

"Do you have something to add, Mr. Winchester?" Cas asked from the front of the class. Dean turned to look at the professor, unable to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

"Okay. I'm sorry, but Rochester was an asshole. He led Jane on throughout the whole book, was going to marry another chick, practically married Jane and then you find out he's already married and has locked his mentally ill wife up in the attic. I'm sorry but the whole thing doesn't scream _romance_ to me."

Charlie, like the huge dork she is, reached over and fist bumped Dean once he stopped speaking. Castiel appeared to be fighting back a grin as he looked out upon the class.

"Mr. Winchester has a good point. Does anyone else have anything to add?" Several students raised their hands and Cas called on one. Dean sat quietly and listened to the class discussion, sneaking an occasional quick look at the dark-headed professor directing the conversation. During one such glance, Dean looked up to find Cas grinning directly at him, and bobbled his pen in surprise causing it to roll down the tiered steps and on toward the front of the room. While two students debated the merits of Rochester's character, Cas leaned over and grabbed the pen, before tossing it to Dean with a quick wink. Dean caught it and looked down at his coffee cup, chewing on his bottom lip and fighting back a grin.

XXXX

Dean was walking down the sidewalk pulling his ear buds out of his pocket, when he heard a familiar voice call out from behind him.

"I saw that, y'know!"

Dean turned to look at Charlie, who was jogging up behind him, with a sly grin on her face.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, looking down to plug the cord into his phone's headphone port.

"The flirty smiling and winking that just happened during Lit. Don't deny it Dean, I know you know what I'm talking about." Charlie cackled as bumped her shoulder into Dean's arm while they walked down the sidewalk.

Dean rolled his eyes, pretending to search through his playlists. "He wasn't flirting with me, Charlie. After the way I acted the last few times I was alone with the guy, I'm pretty sure he thinks I'm insane."

Charlie just snatched his phone and scrolled through his songlist. She selected one and yanked the headphone cord out. "Don't Stop Believin" began blaring from the phone's speakers. Dean bumped her with his elbow, snatching his phone back. "You are such nerd."

Charlie hugged his arm and leaned her head against his shoulder as they walked along, "I'm not the one with Journey on my phone."

Later, when they were sitting in a cracked vinyl booth in the diner near the Fine Arts buildings, Dean dipped a fry in ketchup and debated the contents of the pie case that they had walked by on the way to their seats. Charlie was tapping away at her phone. She looked up and asked,

"Jo wants to know if you are working tonight."

Dean shrugged, internally deciding on pecan, before he answered, "I'm working over at Bobby's for a couple of hours but I should be home around 6:30."

Charlie nodded and began tapping away again.

"Jo says she is coming over for dinner."

Dean nodded. He took a sip of his soda and asked, "You want to come over too?"

"Depends on whose turn it is to cook. Last time Sam made spaghetti it was a big congealed glob of noodles and burned tomato sauce," Charlie said, stealing a fry from Dean's plate.

"My turn. Barbecued chicken," he answered with an eyebrow wiggle.

"Um, hells yeah I'll be there." Charlie opened her mouth to say something else, but quickly got distracted by something behind Dean's shoulder. She quickly grabbed her phone and coat, stopping to throw a few bucks on the tabletop before she turned to Dean. "I've gotta head out, but I'll see you later. Don't look now, but Professor Milton just walked in. Order some pie. I'll tell him you want some company for dessert."

Dean tried to call Charlie back with an angry stage whisper, but she darted away with a smirk, stopping to say something to Cas before she walked out the door. Whatever she said, caused a pleasantly surprised expression to move across his face before he looked in Dean's direction. Cas raised his eyebrows with a questioning look. Dean froze for a moment, unsure of what to do next. Finally, he smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck before he gestured toward Charlie's abandoned bench with a nod. Cas walked over and slid in the seat across from Dean with a small, shy smile.

"Hello, Dean."


End file.
